


Men of Sense and Silly Women Chapter 25, Probably

by Jade_Sabre



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Non-Magical, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Homage, Romance, This was supposed to be crack, and then I committed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:48:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Sabre/pseuds/Jade_Sabre
Summary: It's two-and-half-ish days' travel to Yorkshire.  Will Mr Widogast and Miss Lavorre allow the silence betwixt them to persist, or shall they be thrust into a confession?  An Alternate Chapter for firbolging's Men of Sense and Silly Women.
Relationships: Jester Lavorre/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39





	Men of Sense and Silly Women Chapter 25, Probably

**Author's Note:**

  * For [firbolging](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firbolging/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Men of Sense and Silly Women](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400076) by [firbolging](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firbolging/pseuds/firbolging). 



> I really have no excuses here, except that I was daydreaming about the incomparable [firbolging's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/firbolging/pseuds/firbolging) epic Regency AU _[Men of Sense and Silly Women](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23400076?view_full_work=true)_ , and I threw it in the discord server and joked that while she would be strong and have Caleb not go to Yorkshire, I am weak and they'd just make out in the back of the carriage the whole way there.
> 
> To which she replied that "the only making out that will happen in the back of the carriage is if jade writes it," and I mean, what was I supposed to do, _not_ write it?
> 
> except JOKE'S ON ME RIGHT BECAUSE WHEN HAVE I EVER BEEN SUCCESSFUL AT GETTING CALEB AND JESTER TO KISS AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA WHOOPS OH NO and next thing I knew I had written...............................a lot.
> 
> also it turns out maintaining a consistent Regency tone is Very Hard and any time I was successful in doing so in this fic it was pretty much because I was reciting Men of Sense etc. to myself in my head.
> 
> ANYWAY THANK YOU FIRBOLGING FOR THE WONDERFUL GIFT THAT IS YOUR INCREDIBLE FIC AND THANK YOU FOR STAYING STRONG AND PRESERVING THE SLOWEST OF SLOW BURNS AND THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME THROW NINETY THOUSAND WORDS OF PINING AWAY SO THEY COULD MAKE OUT IN THE BACK OF A CARRIAGE. Maybe.
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy!

The next morning was busy with the bustle of loading the carriage. With George, Louis, Kitty, and Jester's baggage in tow, the coachman informed Jester that unfortunately, there would not be room for her second trunk. "That is, if you want to the horses to catch the coach, miss."  
  
(Nadine, unfortunately, had caught a bit of a head cold and could not come. She had endeavoured to persuade everyone otherwise, but Jester had promised to be a perfectly respectable chaperone. Nadine had not been convinced, but her inability to speak without coughing had precluded her presence.)  
  
Regretfully, Jester unpacked her prettiest dresses, though honestly she'd intended to bring them along more out of wishful thinking than anything else. Hannah probably wasn't giving elaborate balls under Mr Keyes's snuff-stained nose, and with her luck the neighborhood was probably quite devoid of suitable neighbors for entertaining. But we could host our own ball, she argued with herself as she hesitated with the dress she'd worn to that one ball where she danced with Mr Widogast. With George, Louis, Kitty, and herself, they had two pairs, and while Hannah was technically married surely she could still take a turn. If only their party held another eligible gentleman...  
  
She folded the probably pink dress and placed it in the trunk she intended to keep, trading it for a plainer blue number. "That's all, I suppose," she said, closing both trunks. "Excuse me, Blude, could you carry this back up to my room?"  
  
As Blude bowed and and removed the extra trunk from the carriage, Kitty came through the front door, her reticule bulging. "Did you pack enough books for the trip?" Jester asked, laughing.  
  
"One never knows," Kitty replied. "Are you finished? We really ought to be going if we want to make the post."  
  
"I think she's done," George called from atop his horse. His brother rode atop another one beside him, though his head was bent over his journal, as usual.   
  
"Yes," Jester said, "that should be--oh! Mama stitched a pillow for Hannah, I think it's still in my room--just a moment--"  
  
"Hurry!" Kitty called behind her, and Jester rushed to her room to retrieve the pillow. The backing was a burgundy velvet, and the embroidery showed a garden view very much like the one Jester hoped the spring would bring to theirs. Her mother had included a Latin inscription along the bottom, but Jester had never much cared for Latin and wasn't sure if Hannah did either. Something about _mansionus in pacem_ or something like that.  
  
She flew back down the stairs, clutching the pillow to her chest, and ran straight into Mr Widogast as he came around the banister.  
  
"Oh!" she said, bending to collect her pillow from amongst the scattered papers, her cheeks heating. She'd hoped to escape his notice entirely--he was so very busy, that was why she hadn't asked him to come in the first place, no need to bother him with her departure as he so clearly hadn't bothered with announcing his return.  
  
"My pardon," he said, though of course really she'd been the one to run into _him_ , but she refused to look at his face as he bent near her to retrieve his papers. "In a rush?"  
  
"Oh," she said again, her cheeks still red, "no, not really--"  
  
"Jester!" Kitty called. "We really must be going!"  
  
"You are going somewhere?" Mr Widogast said as they both straightened, and she had no choice but to lift her eyes to his face.  
  
He looked...startled. A little concerned. But not at all annoyed, or put-upon, and it would have been much easier to ignore his scrutiny if he had.  
  
"Oh," she said, feeling foolish the moment the sound escaped her, "well, you know, Kitty and George and Louis are heading up to see Hannah in Yorkshire--"  
  
"I did know that," he said, his eyes not quite holding hers, his brow furrowing ever so slightly. "I did not know you intended to go with them."  
  
Did he sound disappointed, she wondered? Or was she simply wishing he did? Probably the latter. Foolish, in any case. "Well, they invited me to come," she said, and his lips quirked in a tight, understanding smile that made her feel abhorrently rude. "You've been so busy," she said desperately, "and you were gone for so long and you said you had so much work to do when you returned--"  
  
"That is true," he said, formal and understanding, the concern and whatever softness she'd imagined on his face folding up like a letter he'd read and planned to slip into his pocket.  
  
She couldn't bear it. "Unless you want to come," she blurted out.  
  
He paused, the metaphorical letter still in his hand. "That is," he said slowly, "if you wanted me to come."  
  
Something in her chest swelled to bursting, and she struggled to pin it down. "Only if you _want_ to come."  
  
"Only if you wanted me to come," he said, quietly, and she made the mistake of meeting his gaze.  
  
"Of course I want you to come."  
  
The words slipped from her mouth but he looked so _sad_ , so _resigned_ , so...afraid to hope, that the bursting feeling pressing against her ribs couldn't bear it, and as soon as she spoke a light came into his eyes, alarmed and disbelieving and not a little terrified--  
  
" _Jester_ ," Kitty said from the doorway, "we--oh! Mr Widogast!" Any impatience in her voice vanished. "I'm so sorry, we were about to depart--"  
  
"Come with us," Jester said, doing her best to affect a playful, careless tone, as if she were simply teasing, as if she could breathe in the face of his startled unguarded stare. "It will be fun!"  
  
"I--"  
  
" _Yes_ , Mr Widogast," Kitty said, and suddenly she was between them, looping her arm through each of theirs and dragging them to the door, and the spell was broken. "Do come!"  
  
"I--" Mr Widogast began again, as the footman opened the carriage door. "I have not--packed--"  
  
"We'll send for your things," Kitty said, with a cheerful determination Jester had never heard from her. "I'm sure you can borrow from George and Louis in the meantime--"  
  
"I'm not sure--"  
  
"Widogast!" George cried as Jester found herself loaded into the carriage. "You coming after all? Want us to saddle your horse?"  
  
"No time!" Kitty called cheerfully, and suddenly Jester found herself sitting next to Kitty, across from Mr Widogast, the carriage door shut behind them, the driver calling to his horses.  
  
"I," Mr Widogast said feebly, blinking, "someone should...tell Mr Dosal...where I've gone..."  
  
"I'm sure someone will," Kitty said, with a demure smile. "Now, shall we?"  
  


* * *

  
Yorkshire being at least two and a half days' travel from Norwich, which I believe is where the Myriad is more or less, they had quite a long ride to suffer in awkward silence. They changed carriages at the post in let's say Norwich, at which point Mr Widogast sent a request back with the carriage to send some of his things to Hannah's new address. On the coach they occasionally found themselves in the company of other travelers, which precluded any intimate conversation, though Jester did store many mental images of human buffoonery for her sketchbook. They stayed at Mr Dosal's inns along the way, which were comfortable enough, Jester sharing a room with Kitty, and the gentlemen in their own chamber.  
  
The first night, Jester asked Kitty, "Do you think Mr Widogast's things will arrive before we do?"  
  
"They might," Kitty said.  
  
"Only George is so tall and Louis is a bit wider, so I don't believe their things will quite fit, if it comes down to that."  
  
"I'm sure they'll suffice," Kitty said.  
  
Jester narrowed her eyes at her friend's uncharacteristically dismissive attitude. "I think we might have given Mr Widogast time to pack."  
  
"I think," Kitty said, "that would have given Mr Widogast time to change his mind."  
  
"I don't think he would have," Jester said, and for a moment the memory of his expression arrested her. His eyes were so unfairly blue.  
  
"No," Kitty said thoughtfully, and too late Jester realized something of the memory must have shown in her face. "If you were asking...I don't suppose he would have."  
  
To her annoyance, Jester felt her cheeks heating again. "He is not _my_ Mr Widogast," she said.  
  
"I didn't say he was," Kitty said, with an equally annoying smile.  
  
The next morning at breakfast she could hardly look him in the face. The conversation in the coach continued to be excruciatingly awkward, with Mr Widogast mostly choosing to occupy himself with what he remembered of the work he had been doing. Jester and Kitty had their reading, but she often found herself watching Mr Widogast over the top of her book as he stared out the window, his hands folded in his lap. He must have quite the memory, to be doing sums and figures in his head; occasionally his fingers moved as if writing, or quoting a figure. He had long fingers. A nice profile, too, though of course she knew that; but now, looking at him, she found herself...  
  
Well, she wasn't thinking about sketching him, as she usually did. The distinct lines of his nose and cheekbones cried out to be recorded, but now she simply found herself looking at him, memorizing him, thinking too often about how she'd missed the sight of him.  
  
That evening, after dinner, Kitty commented, "Mr Widogast looked very well today."  
  
"He did not," Jester retorted. "All that lovely scenery out the window, and all he could do was frown at it while thinking about _numbers_."  
  
"Indeed," Kitty said. "And were you watching him so closely, then?"  
  
Jester stuck her tongue out at her.  
  
The third day of travel promised to be shorter, and for the first leg they were joined in the coach by a young family heading for Leeds. After a few feeble attempts by the mother at restraining her two children which ended in wailing, Jester opened her arms and allowed the two little tots to sit with her while Kitty sang them nursery rhymes and played counting games with them. Jester had never really seen Kitty in her element like this before, and she was pleased and proud of how well her friend managed the children, knowing just when to use a soft voice or a sterner word. The two children were soon eating out of the palm of her hand, and Jester found herself surprisingly content to have them snuggled next to her. She didn't have much experience with children, and honestly hadn't thought much of them one way or another; the wailing had been excruciating, and they did stick their fingers into their mouths and noses far more than seemed necessary. But they were warm, and cute, and she'd be giving them back once they reached Leeds.  
  
She glanced at the mother and father, who were gratefully leaning against each other on the opposite bench, the wife's head on her husband's shoulder, their hands discreetly clasped between them. They looked...tired, honestly. But happy, too.  
  
And next to them Mr Widogast was looking out the window--only he wasn't; he was looking at her, and the expression on his face ached with--  
  
The traitorous feeling in her chest that she refused to call her heart swelled again, caught in her throat, as their eyes met and he blinked rapidly; she saw his sharp inhale, the way his eyes darted away, the stiffening of his shoulders as if he'd been caught--and she'd certainly caught him--but at _what_? And why did she--  
  
"Leeds!" called the coachman, and a moment later Jester was handing the children back to their mother and father as they profusely thanked Kitty.  
  
"You have a gift, ma'am," the mother said, and Kitty smiled, her cheeks a little pink.  
  
The coach felt vast and empty after their departure. Too vast. Too empty. She had nowhere to look but at her book or at Mr Widogast, nothing to distract her from the way he so studiously avoided so much as turning his head in her direction, and no way to talk to Kitty--or to Mr Widogast himself, for that matter--without the other hearing. She needed to--to get out in to the open air, out from the stifling suffocation of this dratted coach with all the proprieties attendant--  
  
She stuck her head out the window. "Excuse me, sir!" she yelled. "I need to relieve myself."  
  
"Should have done that in Leeds, miss," he yelled back.  
  
"It's an _emergency_ , sir!"  
  
As the coach slowed she brought her head back inside, only to be greeted by the inquisitive stare of her companions. Well, one of her companions. The other's expression had frozen, his entire face turning a lovely shade of purple. "If you needed to go in Leeds--" Kitty began.  
  
"It just came over me all of a sudden," Jester said meaningfully, and Kitty winced.  
  
Finally the coach came to a stop, and the door opened. Jester stepped out to the sight of farmland on three sides and a convenient hedge just on the side of the road. Nodding her thanks, she made her way as daintily as possible into the seclusion of the bushes and trees, until she couldn't see the others, could only hear faint whispers of their conversation.  
  
She pressed her back against a tree and slid down until she was sitting on the ground, which she belatedly realized was damp. It was cold, too, and she hadn't counted on that, hadn't been thinking that they were heading _north_ and of course snow would be coming soon. Everything would be frozen in place. Nothing would change.  
  
She considered creating some sound effects, just in case anyone decided to come look for her, but in the end she waited what she felt was an appropriate amount of time for an emergency, and then she took one last deep breath of the cold air and stood and dusted the leaves off her hands and her skirt as best she could. This was fine. She was fine. She could be as cold as the rest of them.  
  
When she returned to the carriage, she was startled to find Kitty sitting on the bench next to the coachman. "I think you had the right idea," she said. "I could use a little fresh air myself. We're not far from Mr Keyes's abode, and I thought I'd get a look at the land while we went."  
  
"Oh," Jester said. She looked at the coach; Mr Widogast remained in his seat, still staring out the opposite window. "I--"  
  
"Best be moving on, miss," the coachman said.  
  
"Yes," she said, and forced herself to climb into the coach and sit on the bench as the coachman shut the door behind her.  
  
Mr Widogast did not turn his head until the coach began moving, but his gaze instantly slid over her and to the empty seat at her side. "Did we lose Miss Cree?"  
  
"She wanted fresh air, and a good look at her future home," Jester said, struggling to be cheerful and light under the heavy weight of his unspoken alarm.  
  
"Ah," he said, and they lapsed back into silence.  
  
At this point, in a normal story, they would remain in silence until they arrived at their destination. But I came here with A Purpose, and so let us soldier on.  
  
They eventually turned onto the country road that would lead them to the village near Mr Keyes's residence. It was not nearly so well-maintained as the road they'd been traveling, and soon the coach's usual jostling gait turned rowdy. Jester abandoned any attempt to read her book, and Mr Widogast looked equally unseated.  
  
"I'm afraid, Mr Widogast," she said, not quite believing her audacity as the words left her mouth, "that our problem stems from the roominess of the coach. Perhaps if we were to sit side-by-side, we might brace ourselves against each other."  
  
"I don't think--" Mr Widogast began, and then a particularly bad bump send him sliding along the bench, narrowly avoiding slamming his head into the wall. "Perhaps you have a point," he conceded.  
  
"There can't be any harm in trying," she said, which felt like a bald-faced lie. "Shall I come to you, then?"  
  
"I would fear for you making the journey," he said, and she laughed. Her laughter continued as he carefully braced himself and, waiting for an opportune moment, he made something akin to an ungainly leap to her side of the coach; and it lingered, as he sat himself beside her, but a moment later the coach bounced again and pressed their sides together, and her laughter left her with her breath.  
  
She was acutely aware of the rough wool of his coat against the thin fabric of her shawl, and then the bare skin of her forearm. She had a fleeting sensation of what it would be like to curl her fingers against it, and then he said, "Ah," and shifted away just enough so they were no longer touching.  
  
It would not do. "Mr Widogast," she said, "I do believe," the coach rattled again, knocking her head against his shoulder, "that for this plan to work," another jerk, and her hand brushed against his leg, "we need to assume a stable position."  
  
"Indeed," he said, and she could practically feel him using all his willpower not to slide away from her. "I suppose we could each," this time his head knocked against the top of hers, "brace our feet against the wall and our backs," he crossed his arms as one of hers flailed across his lap, "against each other--"  
  
"But what if we slide from the bench?" she asked. "We'd be in a horrible knot on the floor."  
  
He went very still for but a moment, though she couldn't fathom--oh, wait, yes she could--and in that time they bounced so hard they both came off the seat entirely, and she landed in his lap.  
  
(Bear with me, audience. We all know Mr Widogast is a gentleman and would never take liberties; we all know that Miss Lavorre, even in her most audacious moments, would never dream of putting her entire future at risk, at least not in a way that was as _serious_ and _vulnerable_ as this. We all know the point is the Slow Burn. But we are here for A Purpose. If it makes you more comfortable to imagine that during this brief authorial interlude, the following exchange transpired behind my back whilst I was engaging you, I don't blame you in the slightest.  
  
 _The Traveler: [appears]  
Jester: But who are you?  
The Traveler: Your god, little one. Now, it looks as if the two of you are about to enter into a Compromising Position. In order to Comport with Decency and the Restrictions of the Genre, would you please pledge your troth before me?  
Jester: I  
Caleb: do?  
Jester: what  
The Traveler: Excellent! By the power invested in me by Jester's unwavering belief in my erstwhile divinity, I now pronounce you husband and wife. CARRY ON.  
_  
Now, where were we?)  
  
Ah yes. She landed in his lap.  
  
His arms went around her immediately, holding her close lest she fall again. In consequence, she found her head pressed against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her ear. Her fingers unconsciously landed beside her cheek, as if she might soothe him with a touch; instead she felt his breathing go shallow and fast as well, his arms tightening until the warmth of him against her was like a blanket in which she wished to remain wrapped for the rest of her days.  
  
"Oh," Jester said.  
  
She tilted her head to look up, saw the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed. "Miss Lavorre," he began, looking determinedly at the opposite wall of the coach as they bounced together, "I--"  
  
"Oh Mr Widogast," she cried, "must we go on pretending?"  
  
She felt him startle, look down almost against his will. His nose looked very large from this angle. His entire face was very close. He was very warm. His chin had the cutest little dimple in it. "Pretending, Miss Lavorre?" he murmured, his voice quiet in deference to their closeness.  
  
"Yes," she said. "I've been pretending I didn't miss you at all, and you--"  
  
"Ah," he said, and the top of her head cracked into his chin. "Yes," he said, a bit pained.  
  
"--have been pretending you--"  
  
"Jester," he said, and she went perfectly still and silent, her head following the rise and fall of his chest as he sighed deeply. "Yes. I have been pretending. But only to--protect you--"  
  
" _Protect_ me," she cried, drawing away from him. They lurched again and she fell against the encircling wall of his arms, threw hers around his chest to brace herself. She felt his chest cave in at her touch; his coat felt exactly as she'd imagined as she dug her fingers into it, refusing to let go.  
  
"Yes," he said doggedly, and from this distance she could see his expression, tight and fearful and refusing to look at her. "Miss Lavorre--"  
  
"You just called me Jester."  
  
"I should not have."  
  
"But I insist that you do," she said; he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she said, "Caleb."  
  
He turned his face to her, his lips parted in shock, his gaze rapt on hers, and the coach hit a particularly uneven patch of the road and they slid towards the far wall. "Jester," he said hoarsely, and then he cleared his throat and said, "Protect you, yes, because you see--"  
  
"If there is one thing I detest, Caleb," she said, devouring every blink, every twitch of his lips and hitch in his breath when she said his name, "it is people trying to _protect_ me."  
  
"I am a bad man, Jester," he said, and she felt a shiver down her spine; he said her name as if he couldn't stop saying it, as if he longed to say it, and it distracted her long enough that he was able to continue, "and moreover there are bad people after me, and I would save you--"  
  
"My father is a criminal ringleader," she said.  
  
"These people are worse," he said, "and I--"  
  
"I'm sure my--"  
  
"I could not bear it if they were to do something to you," he cried, and the pain and longing and fear and affection in his voice loosed the bars she'd kept around the feeling in her chest, and her heart flew free, singing. "I could not bear it if--"  
  
"They'd have to get through the entirety of Labenda to do it," she said, tightening her grip with one hand as she slipped the other back around him to press it against his cheek. "You're not alone, Caleb. You don't have to fight them alone."  
  
His cheek felt warm under her palm, a little rough with stubble she hadn't noticed. His too-blue eyes locked on hers, desperate and longing and still disbelieving, and her heart ached. "I," he said, and then he cleared his throat and said, "I cannot--"  
  
"Yes," she said firmly, though she had no idea what in particular he was protesting, "you can."  
  
He closed his eyes and leaned against her hand and her arm trembled as she pressed back against him, promising. A small laugh escaped him as he said, "You know, your father said I was part of the family. I should not be surprised that you would be so equally insistent."  
  
"Well," she said, "you are," and her cheeks went flaming hot and she said, "I mean, not his and my family, I mean, but you could be--I mean--if--"  
  
While she flailed for words they hit another bump, and without both her arms around him she couldn't help but fall back against him, her hand wrapping itself around his neck, her fingers sliding into his soft if slightly greasy hair where it was tied at the nape. Her cheek pressed against his. The whole world felt reduced to that sensation, and the tickle of his breath as it blew past her ear.  
  
"If?" he whispered.  
  
"You know," she whispered back helplessly. "If you want."  
  
The coach bounced beneath them, pressing them closer and closer together. "If," he said, and then he cleared his throat again and said, "if _you_ want."  
  
"If _you_ want," she insisted, and she felt him chuckle. "I already told you. It's your turn."  
  
She'd meant it as a joke, but her heart pounded in her ears, her fingers clutching at him, her cheek pressing so hard against his that the bones of his cheek and jaw began to hurt against her skin. Ridiculous, to be doubting _now_ , and yet--and yet--  
  
"Oh, Jester," he said, and she relaxed, utterly boneless with relief, "of course I want."  
  
"Oh," she said, so happy she was scared to move lest she absolutely burst into flame. "Then it's settled, then."  
  
"Almost," he said, and she felt him turn his head, and turned hers to meet him.  
  
Jester had spent a near lifetime studying the relations between men and women, or at least the men who frequented the Chateau and her mother. She'd supplemented her education with novels and poetry and the occasional play. She of course knew that life and art were not always perfect mirrors, and frankly she'd often wondered how her mother managed to mask her boredom with the inexpertise of some of her suitors. She knew kisses could be warm and passionate, that lovemaking could carry a person out of their senses; but even for all her romanticism, part of her had secretly worried that in fact it all boiled down to a transaction between two bodies, bought by one and sold by another, an illusion as easily dissipated as the scent of her mother's perfume in a summer breeze. That perhaps her parents' love story hadn't been so remarkable after all, that the torrid passion that had created her very being was in fact indistinguishable from the jealous domination of Lord Sharpe. That should she ever choose to embark on an affair of her own, the love she sought didn't really _exist_ , and she too would be doomed to little more than fond smiles and disillusioned resignation.  
  
Kissing Caleb, her worries evaporated in a brilliant burst of sun.  
  
And how strange--she'd studied so many kisses, yet experiencing one from within was wholly new, as if the two of them were inventing the kiss in this one moment of their lips coming together, his chapped and a bit dry, hers ragged from being chewed on over two days of silence. She'd never particularly _imagined_ kissing Mr Widogast and so she had no expectations and was entirely unprepared for the absolute rush of her nerves as their lips met, the lurch in her stomach as he tilted his head to fit his mouth to hers, the lightheaded sensation as he gently leaned into the kiss and she clutched his coat and his neck, hanging on for dear life as her world spun in laughing circles.  
  
His lips drew away and she realized she _was_ laughing, giddy and giggling, and he pressed his forehead against hers and sighed. "You are," he said, "impossible."  
  
"I am not," she said, still laughing breathlessly. "Merely enamored, Mr Widogast."  
  
His grip on her--his hands had shifted, she realized belatedly, one at the small of her back, the other sliding up her shoulders and into her hair--tightened, and he said swiftly, "Caleb."  
  
"Caleb," she amended, deciding in that instant the only thing nicer than his name on her lips was _his_ lips on her lips, and so she nudged at him with her nose until he lifted said lips back to hers.  
  
How long they stayed in more or less that position, she didn't know. The road hadn't entirely leveled out, and occasionally their heads knocked, or her lips slipped from his and brushed against his cheek or, once, his neck. His reaction to _that_ occurrence had warranted further investigation, but he tangled his hand in her hair and dragged her mouth back to his and said, " _Not now_ ," in a voice so rough and ragged that she tingled from her head to the tips of her toes, suddenly alight and dizzy with possibility as his lips hungered for hers. A cliche from one of her books, perhaps, but an apt one, she decided, as she grasped the lapel of his coat and endeavoured to let him have his fill.  
  
The coach came to an abrupt stop, or perhaps it would have been less abrupt if she'd been paying more attention to anything other than how very desperately she wanted to wrap Caleb ( _Caleb_ ) in her arms and be held by him forever, the force of it eliminating any gaps between their bodies, and the coachman called out, "[Name of the village where the Keyes live]!"  
  
"Oh," Jester said, against Caleb's lips. He made a noise of similar surprise, but the moment she felt his arms begin to loosen she pressed herself against him harder, burying her face in his shoulder, and he tightened his grip again.  
  
"Jester," he whispered against her hair, "we've arrived."  
  
"Tell him to do another loop."  
  
"I don't believe the post works that way," he said, his tone openly and unguardedly amused, and she lifted her head to stare at him in wonder.  
  
"You're very handsome when you smile, did you know?" she asked, unthinkingly tracing the line of his jaw.  
  
His eyebrows lifted in momentary surprise, his head tilting towards the touch of her fingers. "No," he said, "but I have never particularly cared about such things."  
  
"Well," she said, "you'd better get used to hearing them."  
  
"Oh, Jester," he said, and she leaned forward and placed a kiss upon his fondly exasperated lips.  
  
Kitty's voice startled her away. "I see Ha--Mrs Keyes!" she called from the front. "Jester?"  
  
"Yes!" Jester said, and then looked hopelessly into Caleb's crinkled blue eyes as he removed her from his lap and placed her at his side. This was accomplished with less grace than perhaps he desired, especially given that she kicked her heels a little in protest, but soon enough the deed was done to such a degree that anyone peering within would not immediately suspect their recent activities. Although--she covered her mouth with one hand, giggling, as she reached out with the other to push a lock of his hair over his ear--one look at his permanently flushed ears and reddened mouth might give it away. To say nothing for what _she_ must look like--or _her_ hair--her hand flew to her reticule, hoping desperately she'd kept a brush on hand, at the same moment she felt Caleb's hands on her shoulders, turning her slightly so that his fingers might comb through her hair.  
  
"My apologies," he said, but his voice was low and warm on her neck and she leaned towards him without thinking.  
  
The door to the coach opened just as he withdrew his hands to his lap. Jester blinked and carefully clambered to her feet, barely aware of the coachman's hand as he helped her onto level ground. Was she going to swoon? She certainly felt disconnected from reality, as though she floated an inch or two above the dirt of the town square.  
  
The heavier sound of Mr Widogast's boots hitting the ground steadied her; she instinctively looked up at him, and he smiled at her, reassuring, and her answering grin threatened to break her face. "The others appear to have joined Mrs Keyes," he said, looking past her for but a moment, leaving her utterly bereft. "Shall we?"  
  
"And what shall we say, when they ask?"  
  
For the first time since kissing her, panic crept across his face again. "I have not," he began, and then he said, "that is, I should--"  
  
" _Caleb_ ," she said, just because he'd said she could, and she was pleased to see him stutter into silence. "One of them is going to notice."  
  
"I should like to ask your father for your hand," he said in a rush, and Jester, who'd thought herself quite above such silly societal requirements, found her heart quite melting in her chest, especially as he added, "and your mother, too, of course, and until I am able I would not want to draw any scandal or--notice to your--"  
  
"I quite understand," she said, and he looked relieved until she said, "but surely when we are among friends--"  
  
"Who might report me to your father before I have a chance to ask?"  
  
She narrowed her eyes; he seemed entirely in earnest. "But when we are _alone_ \--"  
  
"Which ought not happen."  
  
"I am _very_ sneaky."  
  
He held her gaze as the coach drove off, leaving them standing in the middle of the square, her trunk already delivered to Hannah's carriage, their companions looking at them from the square's edge. "I suppose we may demonstrate a fondness for each other in front of the others," he said begrudgingly. "But decorous. The beginnings of a courtship."  
  
"And alone?"  
  
Something flashed in his eyes--and how thrilling, to love him so deeply, yet to have so much to learn about him as well--and he lowered his voice and said, "I look forward to your displays of creativity in the clandestine department, Miss Lavorre. I have," and here a rueful, ironic smile quirked his lips, "my own abilities in that department. I should very much like to test them against yours."  
  
"Jester," she said.  
  
"Jester," he said, warmly, and she shivered again.  
  
"Jester!" Hannah called, and when Jester dragged her eyes away from Caleb's face she saw that Hannah was halfway across the square to them. "Mr Widogast! It's nearly time for tea!"  
  
"And _pastries_ ," Jester said, delight coursing through her at the prospect, made all the sweeter by Caleb tucking her hand into his elbow.  
  
"Let us not delay, then," he said. "Shall we?"  
  
"We shall," she said, beaming up at him, and together they stepped towards Hannah, and whatever adventures Yorkshire might bring.


End file.
